


These Open Doors Were Open-Ended

by Flames_and_Jade



Series: Only One For Me - Peterick OTP Prompts Repository [10]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Easter Candy, Grocery Shopping, M/M, Movie Watching, One Shot, being adults, domestic life, grumpy!Patrick, humor and teasing, kale - Freeform, no tropes, otp prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 07:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10212389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: Sometimes love isn't stars in your eyes and fluttering breaths...sometimes its grocery shopping and hogging the covers.From an OTP prompt about love being more than just the tropes we all love so much.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends! So I've been dying from some CRAZY writer's block lately...it seems like I'll sit down to write and it takes everything in me to just get a sentence out...and then I look at it later and I'm like WTF was I trying to say? But I decided I had to get out of this rut, so I went through my OTP prompts and this one bit me. I have no idea if it's total garbage or barely-passable...but I wrote something, so hopefully that means the rut is over? 
> 
> I'll put the prompt at the end to not spoil it. As a note, this contains spoilers for the movie "5th Wave," which I thought was singularly horrible, but either way, you've been warned =)

“Seriously, how are you this drunk already??” 

 

Pete gave his boyfriend a look that he usually only gave to his son or his dog—the look that said _I know what the answer is, and I know how we got here, but I’m going to ask it to see what you tell me because it’s going to tell me how dumb you think I am_. The effect was more than lost on Patrick, who was grinning at him from where he was dangling half-way off a high bar chair, foot tapping out a beat on the crossbar and a dazzling smile on his face.

 

“Becauseeeeeeee alcohol?”

 

“How many of those have you had?” Pete eyed the nearly-empty glass of the suspicious amber liquid. 

 

“Of these? Ummm…just three?” Patrick looked thoughtful. “But I’m pretty sure that drink Brendon got me before we did tequila shots had a bunch of stuff in it, and—“

 

“ _Shots?_ You did more than one Tequila shot with Brendon?” He had only seen the one, but if there had been multiple, that would explain a lot. The look on Patrick’s face was somewhere between petulant, hopeful, and kicked-puppy. 

 

“Maybe?” Bruno Mars’ _Uptown Funk_ came on and Patrick perked up, a smile splitting his face. He reached over and grabbed the glass with a shaky hand and knocked back the remaining liquid. “Dance with me!” He jumped down from the chair with only a modicum of drunken stumbling, and pulled Pete close. Laughing, Pete allowed Patrick to pull him over to a more open area in the bar, hips shimmying as he sang the song with passion, face scrunching up exaggeratedly to belt along. 

 

“Babe, _babe,_ that’s my _foot.”_ Pete cautioned as Patrick pulled him close and tried to dip him, only succeeding in stepping on his foot and tripping. He stood back up, laughing and pulled Pete close, pressing his face to his neck and wrapping him in what could only be described as a bear-hug. 

 

“Sorry, toes!” He pressed a kiss to Pete’s cheek, and then looked him solemnly in the eyes. “Your feet are my favorite.” Pete’s look of shock must have been more pronounced than he intended, because Patrick burst out laughing and twirled them around. “I’m _kidding_ babe, _all_ of you is my favorite!” 

 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that right?” Pete couldn’t keep the smile from his face as Patrick rolled his hips and started to use dance moves from all sorts of eras—mixing together some Prince, Michael Jackson, Shakira and probably a little Queen B—and grinning irrepressibly. He laughed, because he knew what Patrick was going to say…and he couldn’t argue with it.

 

“You like it, asshole.” 

 

Yes, yes he did. Bruised toes and all.

 

~//~

 

“Oh my God Pete, what is _that?!”_ Patrick sounded both shocked and disgusted as Pete held up a giant box of Easter candy.

 

“It’s _chocolate covered Peeps_ babe!! Doesn’t that sound _amazing?!”_ Pete was nearly jumping up and down as he set the box in the cart, eyes wide and Patrick could swear he saw a bit of drool on his face. 

 

“Gross. No.” He looked at the price sticker. “ _Ten dollars_ for these?! Are you kidding?” 

 

Pete pouted and folded his arms. “You have to enjoy the finer things in life. Plus, that’s rich coming from the guy who refuses to buy anything but name-brand tin foil. Would buying the store brand really kill you?” 

 

Muttering something about _quality_ and _thickness matters,_ Patrick rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to shopping, listening with half an ear to Pete prattling on next to him about all the things he’d tried with Peeps over the years. Pulling a couple of bags from the roll, he selected three broccoli crowns and a bunch of kale.

 

“—Eww, Patrick, kale, really!?” He looked up to see Pete’s nose scrunching up like he had picked up a giant slug. 

 

“What’s wrong with kale?” 

 

“Only that it’s green, tastes like shit, and is reserved for hippies?” Pete gave him a look that said _I shouldn’t have to explain this to you_ and Patrick just rolled his eyes. 

 

“Consider it penance for your peeps. Plus, you’ll like it, I’m going to put it in soup.” 

 

“Soup should never have green stuff in it, babe.” His eyes were solemn like they were discussing the fate of the universe or which of them to eat on a desert island to save the other. 

 

“It’ll be good, you’ll see. Plus, you always like my soups.” Patrick settled the bag into the cart firmly and started to walk, looking for a bag of red potatoes. 

 

“I like more than just your _soup_ , Lunchbox.” Turning around, practically able to _hear_ the leer in Pete’s voice, Patrick saw that he had been indeed right—his boyfriend was ogling his ass pointedly and unashamedly. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed Pete and pulled him along, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially in his ear.

 

“Are you going to lose it if I pick out some cucumbers?” 

 

“ _OH MY GOD PATRICK!_ ” He laughed at the look on Pete’s face as he pushed the cart through the rest of the produce isle. 

 

~//~

 

It was cold.

 

Not like huh, the fan is on and there’s a nice light breeze in the bedroom kind of cold, but the arctic blast, holy-shit-someone-dumped-ice-on-the-bed kind of cold. He could practically feel ice forming a layer over his exposed skin, and felt confident that there wold be icicles hanging from the ceiling when he found the willpower to crack the frost off his eyelids and open his eyes. 

 

Mustering the resolve from somewhere deep within, Pete opened his eyes into the midnight dimness of their bedroom and looked down. No frost or icicles, but there was a distinct lack of blankets covering him. Come to think of it, there was a distinct lack of blankets _anywhere_ on his side of the bed, because they were all wound around a certain Patrick Martin Vaughn Stump. 

 

Yanking experimentally on the corner of blanket/sheet/comforter closest, Pete found it was indeed molecularly-sealed to the bed’s other occupant. He tried a few more places, hoping they would just magically move and unwind like scarves pulled from a magician’s sleeve and be long enough for him to wrap up in and go back to sleep. But luck was not on his side, and he realized he had only one option…and it was probably his favorite. 

 

Imaging himself to be a cave-diver, he slid under the blankets and burrowed into the mountain himself. Nestled at the core like the molten heart of a volcano was his blanket-hogging, soundly-sleeping, and _warm_ boyfriend. 

 

“Mpphhhh… _Petewhatthefuck!!”_ Patrick mumbled awake, turning to a yelp of indignation as Pete wound his arms around him, tucking his cold feet under his calves and warming his hands against Patrick’s stomach. “Stop it, goddammit you’re fucking _cold.”_

 

 _“_ Only because _somebody_ stole all the blankets.” Pete smashed his face into the delightful crook of Patrick’s neck, smelling the familiar smell of their dryer sheets (some froofy lavender-scented things that Patrick always bought and Pete always complained about but secretly loved), sweat and the indescribable smell that was _Patrick_ and felt sleep starting to tug at him. “Now shut up and go to sleep.” He closed his eyes to the comforting sound of Patrick grumbling sleepily, muttered _if someone didn’t always have to have the fan on_ and _fucking icicles for hands_ and _asshole_. But Patrick’s arms tightened around him, and he felt the way he relaxed and gently nuzzled his nose a bit into Pete’s hair…and everything was perfect. He was warm, wrapped up in the arms of his favorite person in the world…

 

 _“Crissakes Pete,_ will you shut the fuck up?” 

 

Confusion filtered into Pete’s mind…why was Patrick so upset? “Huh?”

 

“You’re fucking _sawing logs.”_

 

_~//~_

 

The empty pizza box sat on the coffee table, and Pete was once again getting glared at by his irritated boyfriend. 

 

“ _This_ is the movie? You seriously had every movie available in the Red Box, and you picked _this?”_

 

“It has Liev Schreiber! I love him! How was I supposed to know it’d be this bad?” 

 

Chewing on the last bit of his crust, Patrick rolled his eyes. “The fact that it said _Young Adult Sci-Fi_ should have been your first clue.” He fixed Pete with a glare. “Seriously, you realize that scene where _the high-school age girl_ had sex with the alien guy—who is _clearly_ way older than she is—is basically alien pedophelia?” Stuffing the rest in his mouth, he waved his hand expressively. “And you know, that pick-up line was even worse than the ones you use, which is saying something. _Your friend looks funny?_ Really??” 

 

Holding up his hands, Pete gave his best doe-eyed repentant look. “I’m sorrryyyyy okay? Next time you can go get the pizza and pick the movie, and I’ll stay home and sit on the couch in batman pajamas.” 

 

Patrick didn’t reply, only muttered under his breath as he curled up against Pete and pushed his glasses up his nose. They watched in silence, half paying attention, half absorbed in the games they were playing on their phones. Pete had been trying to beat this level of candy crush all week, and Patrick was engrossed in trying to beat the North American high score for QuizUp! in all the music categories. 

 

As the movie neared the end, their phones were forgotten as they both yelled insults at the TV. 

 

“ _Oh my GOD,_ you didn’t see that coming?! The shit they fucking _implanted in your neck_ made you see what they wanted you to see? No way!” Patrick was groaning and gesticulating at the screen. 

 

“There’s seriously no way a kid could shoot a rifle that big.” Pete pointed out a few minutes later. “Look at that dude shoot the _same gun_. It knocks him back, and that kid is shooting it like there’s no recoil.” He shook his head, rubbing his hand over his face. “Seriously, has the director ever heard of physics?”

 

“Ohhhhh look…you found your brother! Good job! Maybe you shouldn’t have _let him wander off with the clearly evil army in the first place!”_ Pete yelled at the screen fifteen minutes later, ignoring Patrick laughing at him. 

 

The movie drew to its inevitable close, with the main character looking off into the sunset pondering the possibility of humanity surviving the much-stronger aliens, and Patrick rolled his eyes. “I love how all the other kids look like they literally went through a meat grinder, but her hair and makeup are still _perfect._ ” 

 

Pete laughed. “Hey, she must shop at Mac. That shit stays _forever._ ” 

 

“You’d know, wouldn’t you.” Patrick laughed as he sat up and rolled his shoulders to work out the kinks. “It’s official. That was the worst movie in the world. You’re fired from picking movies.” 

 

“Worse than _Attack of the Three-Headed Death Shark?”_   Pete couldn't help adding and laughed at Patrick’s scowl. 

 

“I still can’t believe you made me watch that. At least that pile of stupid _knew_ it deserved the 1/2 star Netflix rated it…this train wreck of a movie thought it was telling a convincing story! That’s even worse!”

 

Turning off the TV, Pete pressed a kiss to Patrick’s forehead. “Let me make it up to you?” 

 

Still grumbling, he let Pete pull him from the couch. “Nobody’s good enough in bed to give me those two hours of my life back.” 

 

~//~

 

Still trembling, Patrick didn’t complain as Pete pulled him close and wrapped his arms around him. He could definitely be annoying, but _damn_ if Pete didn’t know how to use his mouth sometimes. 

 

“Still hate me?” Patrick could _hear_ the shit-eating grin that had to be on Pete’s face, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care too much, not with the way his toes and several other parts of his body were tingling like a firestorm. 

 

“Yes. But I’ll let it go for now, considering.” 

 

Pete’s laugh was loud and braying as he pulled away and pressed a wet kiss to Patrick’s neck before laying down on the pillow, noses close enough to touch. Patrick looked into the liquid brown eyes he loved that were dancing with merriment and wondered what he had done to be this lucky, to be in love with his best friend who picked horrible movies, never folded the laundry and couldn’t ever remember where he left his keys. 

 

He wouldn’t change a thing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> OTP Prompt: Imagine them dancing. Not slow, romantic dancing, but twirling and stepping on each other’s feet and slightly drunk and person A falls, dragging person B down with them.
> 
> Imagine them sleeping together. Not holding each other close or spooning, but person A snoring so loud that person B has to hit them to wake them up. And imagine person A hogging the blankets and person B getting upset because it’s really cold.
> 
> Imagine them shopping. Not together shopping, or couple shopping, but arguing over prices. Person A picking out the most ridiculous things and person B rolling their eyes, and then person B getting like some healthy vegetable bag or something and person A getting grossed out by it.
> 
> Imagine them watching a movie together. Not cuddling together, or one getting scared and clutching the other, no. Imagine them watching something stupid and person A cussing out the tv while person B rolls their eyes and, “WHat the hell are you doing HE’S NOT THE FATHER!!!1!”
> 
> Imagine them being just as hopelessly in love with each other as ever, without any cliche fanfiction moments.
> 
> Title from the song "Saturday."


End file.
